


The Prince’s Son and the Novice

by yaakov



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Death, Fan theories, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Spoilers for Book 4 - A Feast for Crows, Trans Character, binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4638699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/yaakov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange things are afoot at the Citadel, but Sam’s more interested in his new friend Alleras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One autumn day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cleromancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleromancy/gifts).



> This story assumes the fan theory that Alleras is one of the Sand Snakes.

Gilly left on a crisp, breezy day that carried a scent of harvested apples on the air. There weren't many apple trees inside the city gates of Oldtown, and Sam was too distraught to notice their beauty besides. All night he'd managed to hold his tears at bay, but at his first sight of Gilly in front of the wagons, he burst into sobs. Gilly did her best to balance the babe in one arm while cradling a weeping Sam with the other.

"Shh, it's all right, Sam."

"It isn't," he whimpered into her soft hair. "Y-you're going away. For good. I'll never see you again, n-n-nor little Aemon." He pulled away, hiccoughing feebly.

Gilly smiled at him sadly, unshed tears glistening in her own eyes. Her eyes were large and kind, and Sam had always thought them beautiful.

"You don't know that," she whispered.

Sam shook his head. "The odds aren't good," he mumbled. "And here I am. I-I'd wanted to—"

To go with her? To protect her? To _marry_ her? Each thought was more absurd than the last.

"I know," Gilly said. She rebalanced the babe in her arms and reached up to brush away Sam's tears. "I know you did, Sam."

It was too much. 

Hours later, Sam still couldn't speak without a quiver in his voice. He'd cried so much that he shouldn't have had any tears left, but still he felt a heavy press behind his reddened eyes. His mind felt numb and his throat lumpy, and in his tearful daze, he'd let Leo Tyrell drag him down to the Quill and Tankard.

"I'll buy you a round, but you'll owe me a copper," Leo drawled, "Rosy, fetch us a bottle of Arbor red, will you?"

Sam was indeed quite low on coin. He'd had to pay a wine merchant and her daughters upfront, a silver each, to escort Gilly and Aemon up to Horn Hill. The women also carried a copy of a letter sent to Lady Melessa Tarly, who would pay them in gold upon delivering the babe and woman safely.

Sam prayed that would be enough. He winced, both in worry and at the thought of that dry red wine from the Arbor. 

"I don't care for sour red. Couldn't we get a floral gold instead?"

"My, my, what a choosy beggar." Leo kicked his shiny boots upon the table and leaned back. "Sure, gold will do. If it's wine, then I'll drink it." He gave the barmaid a few coppers and a presumptuous wink, which was met with a haughty scoff.

A raucous shout of laughter came from the other end of the common room, and Sam folded in on himself. He didn't like this place and he still didn't know if he liked Leo. The young Tyrell always wore that arrogant smile and he always seemed on the verge of slinging a hurtful insult.

Suddenly, Sam felt a hand on his arm and he jumped.

"I'm sorry, Sam. How are you faring?"

The voice was low and gentle, lightly Dornish and belonged, of course, to Alleras. As he spoke, Alleras slid into a seat beside him. The slender hand on Sam's arm made his face heat up, and Sam scolded himself for it. _Fool! Gilly hasn't even been gone for a day._

Alleras blinked at him with his large, dark eyes.

"Your companion left today, did she not?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. The kindness in Alleras' voice and eyes proved too much, and before he could even try to stop it, Sam was sniffling again.

"Oh gods," Leo moaned. "Why did you have to mention it, Sphinx? At this rate, Slayer's going to flood the streets of Oldtown with his sorrow."

Alleras placed a protective arm around Sam and shot Leo a sharp look.

"Don't listen to him," Alleras told Sam. "He doesn't understand things like this."

"Ha! Love, you mean?" Leo smirked. "I understand it well enough. It waxes and wanes with the hardness of my cock."

Alleras made a disgusted sound.

"It isn't just about that," Sam mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Gilly and I relied on each other. I-I-I trust her."

_I need her._ That's what he'd meant to say.

The common room had grown more crowded, filled with the loud shouts of men, and Sam shuddered. Alleras gently rubbed his shoulder, and Sam slowly felt himself relax.

"I looked for you in the Ravenry," Alleras commented absently. "Pate told me I’d find you both here."

"Pate?" Sam blinked. "I don’t recall telling him where we were going."

Leo’s pale green eyes narrowed. "I don’t recall seeing Pate at all."

The barmaid plunked down a bottle beside them (she took a bit more care with the glasses). In the afternoon sun, the wine glinted beautifully, its color the golden shade of falling autumn leaves.

Leo wasted no time in pouring himself a glass.

"I’ve told you," Leo said, his voice passing just under the din. "There’s something queer going on with Pig Boy." He took a slow sip. "I would bet my mother’s honor he had something to do with that missing candle."

Alleras frowned. He unlinked his arm from around Sam’s shoulders and poured them each a glass in turn. 

"You have no way of knowing that."

"Think about it," Leo pressed, his green eyes sharp and dangerously clever. "With the Mastiff gone from the kennel, perhaps he knew that it was only a matter of time before the grey sheep came to graze through the Isle of Ravens. It would quite ruin the archmaesters’ little ruse to have a burning glass candle lying about, wouldn’t it?"

_Say nothing of prophecies or dragons, unless you fancy poison in your porridge._ Sam thought Archmaester Marwyn might well add vanished magical candles to that list.

Alleras sucked his teeth. "That's simply wild speculation from you as always."

Leo quirked an eyebrow. "Simply wild speculation, you say? Tell me, Sphinx, what other wild speculations of mine have proved unfounded?"

Sphinx's handsome face hardened.

"Ah, yes," Leo said with a devilish grin. "The fact that you’re a lord’s get in disguise. That one was _clearly_ proved to be unfounded."

Alleras scowled. "Perhaps you shouldn’t worry about things that don’t concern you." He drained his glass in defiance and stood. “This Arbor swill is weaker than a drunk man’s piss."

Lazy Leo had to laugh. He was ever fond of a well-phrased vulgar quip. 

"Nobody offered you any in the first place. Good Arbor wine is wasted on a Dornish half-breed like you."

"Come on, Sam," said Alleras brusquely. "Let's take a walk and leave Leo to his piss."

"Hey," Leo interjected, looking suddenly peeved. "You’re taking Slayer? I ordered this fine vintage at his request."

Alleras beckoned to Sam and sent Leo a withering look. 

"I'm certain you'll enjoy having it all to yourself."

Sphinx steered Sam out of the inn and into the dusky evening light. Alleras' arm felt thin but strong against his body, and Sam's heart swelled with a pleasant anxiety. He thought they might look ridiculous—an acolyte and a black brother strolling arm in arm—but nobody seemed to notice. The streets of Oldtown were quiet and rushed at this time of day as its residents quickly tried to make it home before evenfall. It wasn't always like this, Sam knew. Oldtown, like everywhere, had been different in times of peace.

"I can't believe I sent her off like that," Sam muttered sadly. 

Alleras let his arm fall. "Gilly, you mean? Do you think she would be safer traveling back to the Wall?"

"I don't know, truly. Certainly not by road, but by sea—"

"The seas are also dangerous now," Alleras reminded him. "And the Wall is a long way up from here."

Sam nodded miserably. "What you're saying makes sense, but I still worry."

"I know," Alleras reassured him. "But you're smart, Sam, and brave too. You'll stay here and forge a chain like you promised, and you'll await a letter from your lady mother."

"And if it never comes?" Sam whispered.

A hard smile twisted Alleras' lips. "Then you'll assume the raven died until you learn otherwise."

Sam nodded again. He felt a little better now. _Alleras is kind,_ he thought. Sam looked over at him with a shy smile, and he was surprised to find Alleras already smiling at him. Sphinx's smile deepened when he met Sam's eyes, and his dark eyes twinkled.

_Gods,_ Sam inwardly moaned, shivering in a sudden breeze. _He's even better looking than Jon. What are you doing, fool?_

"Um, Alleras?" Sam said, suddenly desperate to change the subject. "I found something curious in the Hall of Records awhile back, and I meant to ask you, but I-I-I don’t want you to take offense…."

Alleras raised an eyebrow. "Never from you, Sam."

"Well, it’s just curious, that’s all. It was the day I learned that Oberyn Martell had died, and I was looking through the Martell lineages in the Hall of Records. I noticed he had this daughter."

Alleras was watching him closely, but in the gathering dark, his black eyes were indecipherable. 

"Prince Oberyn had several daughters, as I recall."

"Right," Sam continued. "But one is a daughter by a Summer Islands trader. Just like you. It can’t be that very common, I thought, for a-a wealthy Dornishman to—well, I just wondered if perhaps you might know her?" Sam’s voice ended in a squeak, and he quickly realized how ridiculous this sounded.

Alleras was quiet for a moment.

"You agree with Leo."

"I—" Sam sputtered. "Well—" He sighed, hugging himself against the breeze. "I find it difficult to believe you have _no_ noble blood in you," he said quietly. "Truly, I do."

"Very well."

Alleras’s words were clipped. He said nothing more, and Sam didn’t dare press on. The air had grown cool, and the sky was darkly rosy when the towering sphinxes finally greeted them outside the Citadel.

Alleras stopped near the entrance, and in the light of the flickering torches outside, he turned and regarded Sam closely. The firelight reflected in his eyes made them look as black and hard as obsidian.

"If I were to tell you that my father was highborn," he said very quietly, in measured tones. "And that I did know Prince Oberyn and am acquainted with his daughters and many other Dornish nobles besides—"

Sam gulped, feeling the heat drain from his face.

"—will you inquire no further?" Alleras pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. "And say absolutely nothing to Leo."

Sam nodded fervently.

"I have my reasons to trust no one here," Alleras continued. "But somehow you’ve wormed your way in." His smile was grim. He moved to touch Sam’s arm again but he pulled back his hand instead.

"Good night, Sam."

Sphinx slipped into the night before Sam could muster a proper response. Shaken, he made his way alone to the Isle of Ravens and up to his small sleeping cell in the north tower.

He climbed up to the Ravenry, deciding he should tend to the ravens before retiring, but he found Pate already there. The pale boy nodded hello, and Sam greeted him guardedly, bidding him thanks and good night. Pate often made Sam uncomfortable, and the events of that evening had only made this more salient. He decided he would try to put Pate, the glass candle, and everything else out of his mind. Lazy Leo was more than eager to do all the hypothesizing, after all.

_I have nothing to do with any of it,_ Sam told himself. _I’m here to forge my chain._

In truth, Sam had nothing to do with who Alleras was either, but there was simply no way of pushing that from his mind. He was drawn to Alleras; that much was undeniable, no matter how he reproached himself. This attraction to other men was rather new for Sam, but he felt less nervous about it than he thought he should. Sam’s pull toward Alleras felt startlingly natural. Growing up, he had been so frightened of other boys that his fear had eclipsed any budding fondness. In a dark, fearful corner of his mind, Sam wondered how his father would react to such a thing. _He couldn't hate me any more for it,_ Sam mused. Lord Randyll thought there wasn't a woman alive who would take Sam to bed, much less a man.

The thought of bedding a kind, handsome young man made Sam blush just as much as thoughts of Gilly did. He felt he could trust Alleras, yet there was still so much about the other man that he didn’t know. Oddly, Sam felt he had the answer right in front of him, but the truth eluded his grasping fingers in the dark.


	2. Several weeks earlier

Alleras took his time coming down from his quarters these days. The autumn sun seemed almost apologetic—reluctant to rise and quick to set, and sorry that it couldn't be warmer. Alleras too had lost some of his charm, or so he feared. He had grown quite popular among the novices and acolytes, but of late, he'd felt so weary that breakfasts and night caps were chores both. He rose late and retired early, and his excuses were running thin.

He'd gathered enough information from gossips and rogues to know it must be true. His father was dead—stabbed in the back by the Lannisters, or slain by Gregor Clegane in a deadly duel. The last tale made his stomach twist in sickening knots. Would his father be so foolish as to challenge Ser Gregor to a duel? No, Prince Oberyn was rash, but never foolish.

Alleras liked to think himself neither. He was careful, clever, and calculating, but even the most exacting fools could grow despondent.

 _There,_ Alleras told himself sternly. _You've had your mourning. It's time to climb from this bog of self-pity._ It wouldn't do for people to start wondering, because fools who start wondering soon start hypothesizing, and fools with hypotheses look too closely.

Besides, Alleras had a new reason to bestir himself more often. There was that new boy, Sam—or young man, rather, though he seemed so timid—and Alleras meant to make himself agreeable. _Marwyn told me to watch over that one,_ Alleras reminded himself, but that, in truth, was the least of it. Sam was a man of the Night's Watch, who had traveled beyond the Wall and seen things only heard of in legends and old crones' tales. He had even brought with him a young wildling woman.

And the young man who called himself Sam seemed sweet, incredibly sweet. Alleras couldn't forget the sensitive look in those large, dark eyes, nor the softness of Sam’s pliant arm as he guided him from the Seneschal’s Court. Sam had a sheepish smile, and his kind eyes were framed by long, dark lashes that fluttered against his pink cheeks. He could probably slay a man with a single blink.

 _That boy's sweet enough to rot your teeth,_ Obara would say. Obara did not approve of bedding soft men—or soft women, for that matter. Nevertheless, Alleras still had a stubborn fondness for those men. It was always the sweet ones that caught him—the bashful, bookish boys who averted their eyes. 

_Be careful with those, little brother,_ Nym had told him, just before he left for Oldtown. No doubt she thought those quiet young scholars had lured Alleras just as strongly as the Citadel's library. _It's far better to take a strong-minded man who will tell you what he thinks._

Nym alone had been precise in her speech. _Little brother_. Heady relief washed over Alleras as he remembered. Tyene had tried to be respectful, but she always tripped over _he_ and _she_ and in the end, Alleras had almost regretted telling her. But Obara was the worst. She'd demanded to know if Alleras thought womanhood shameful, and the accusation still made his throat go tight with pain. Still, they had all sworn to keep his chosen name a secret and to never reveal the whole of his plans to anyone. The fewer who knew the entire truth, the better.

 _I won't live as a woman again, even after I've left the Citadel_. He would never forget the fresh confusion on his sisters' faces or the raw smile he tried to give them in return. _'Sarella' always was a bit backwards, don't you think?_

No, they hadn't thought so, but Alleras wanted to believe that their father might have.

A listless cold threatened to creep upon him, and Alleras fiercely shook the memories from his mind. He splashed himself with water and dressed, pulling on his breeches, shirts, and tight-fitting brigandine, and paused to take a look. The mirror showed a handsome young man—younger-looking than he was in truth, but his seeming youth only served to enhance his good looks.

Alleras smiled. The other acolytes accused him of always smiling, and perhaps it was true. He hoped none had noticed his smiles had lapsed for a spell.


	3. Several days afterward

The Citadel of Oldtown had grown powerful on the backs of its novices and acolytes, or so it seemed to Sam. The maesters at the Citadel barely bothered themselves with ledgers and measurements, and in truth, why should they? An endless crop of hopefuls were present to bob their heads and do the maesters’ biddings.

Sam sat at a large, sloping desk in a wide, desk-filled room, doing his best to copy each line with exact precision, despite the fact that it was well past mealtime. He’d been all morning in the Hall of Records, sitting and writing and trying to forget the cramp in his fingers. As it was only Sam’s second day at the task, he was being supervised by an experienced acolyte.

"You’re almost done," Alleras told him cheerfully. "Although I, for one, would not complain if you decided to hurry."

The slender young Dornishman was perched with feline grace on a rickety wooden stool. _Half-Dornish,_ Alleras would remind him. Sam's new friend had the sharp features of the salty Dornish, right up to the narrow tip of his widow's peak, but his color was more that of a Summer Islander. His tight curls were black as jet, and his skin was such a rich brown that Sam felt almost ashamed of how pale he was. 

With one elbow balanced on a slender knee, Alleras propped his chin in his hand and flashed Sam a wicked grin.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat, and in his distraction, a glob of ink dropped from his idle quill onto the perfect parchment below.

"Oh, hells!" Sam complained, and Alleras groaned.

The bound parchment held a record of recent history, and the long, sunlit room was filled with dozens of novices copying identical accounts. The Citadel’s maesters continuously compiled reports, sent by their colleagues, from all across the Seven Kingdoms. Marriages, births, and deaths of the highborn (and even some of their bastards) went into a scroll overseen by an Archmaester. Novices and acolytes copied this, and others copied the copies, and eventually, every new event became recorded history.

"Fresh reports are ready when you’ve finished those!" rang a sharp, clear voice through the hall.

Sam set his quill in the inkpot and slumped in defeat.

"I’m spent," he told Alleras feebly.

Alleras laughed. "Fair enough, Sam. But before we break for a meal, I’d like to see what’s new in the realm."

It wouldn’t be anything new, really. Since the war began, events had been unfolding rapidly, and acolytes’ quills could only scratch so fast. Much of what Sam had been copying was old news now, but occasionally some interesting minor detail would crop up and catch his attention.

Sam massaged his stiff hands while Alleras took his time returning. When Sam finally saw him approach, Alleras' dark eyes were glued to the open scroll in his hands. He crept slowly through the rows of desks, careful not to run into anyone but still never looking up.

"On second thought, perhaps I won’t be taking a meal after all."

Alleras' voice could barely be heard above the scribblings and mutterings that ever filled the hall. When he looked up at Sam, his face was an expressionless mask.

"What is it?" Sam asked, trembling. "What’s happened?"

"Nothing that you should be so concerned about." Alleras paused, swallowing, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded eerily distant.

"The Prince of Dorne has been killed. Did you know?"

"The Prince?" Sam asked in surprise. "No, I hadn’t heard that. Killed, you say? By whom?"

Wordlessly, Alleras laid the scroll near Sam’s hands.

"It’s all here in the report." Alleras blinked. "I’ll be going now."

Sam opened the scroll in haste, but Alleras had already turned away. He had slipped away completely by the time Sam found the offending line:

> _Prince Oberyn of House Martell, called THE RED VIPER, slain by Ser Gregor Clegane during trial by combat in King’s Landing_

Sam frowned pensively. He’d assumed it was Doran, the Lord of Sunspear. He wondered if Oberyn’s death would truly change much in the grand scheme of things, though Alleras had clearly been upset by it. _Do smallfolk truly grieve when the brothers of their liege lords fall?_ Sam doubted this, even in the case of a man so celebrated as Oberyn Martell.

A nagging thought pushed itself forth in Sam’s mind: Lazy Leo insisted that Sphinx, as he’d dubbed Alleras, was of noble birth, though Alleras refused to acknowledge it. Sam tried not to pay much heed to Leo’s theories, but even he had difficulty believing Alleras was wholly common. His speech was too polished, his education too vast, and his purse too full for Alleras to be anything other than a lord’s son.

Listlessly, Sam cleared his writing desk, tucking his books and reports safely away to resume the next day. He wanted to have a look through the family histories kept near the back of the records hall.

The current volume of _The Lords and their Noble Houses of Dorne_ was bound in orange cloth with bright gold lettering. Sam gingerly pulled it off the shelf, and before long, he was drawn into lengthy lists of tantalizingly brief descriptions of each member of every noble house of Dorne. When he finally reached the records of House Martell, he drew his finger softly down the smooth page. 

Prince Oberyn had a long list of bastards, all daughters. _Even a daughter by a septa!_ Sam shuddered at the thought. Just under the septa’s daughter’s name was a bastard named Sarella, and something under her description caught Sam’s eye:

> _Sarella, Oberyn’s daughter by a trader from the Summer Isles, captain of the Feathered Kiss_

"That’s curious," Sam muttered to himself. He wondered how many Dornish lords had fathered bastards by Summer Island traders. Alleras would make the second that Sam knew of, if he was indeed the son of a Dornish lord. He wondered if Alleras knew this young woman called Sarella. More curiously, if Alleras did have connections to the Martell line, then Sam marveled at why Sphinx was so intent on keeping it secret.

The uncomfortable rumbling in his empty belly pulled Sam back to the present. He still hadn’t eaten, he remembered mournfully, as he shut the book quietly and slipped it back into place. He wished he could complete the record of Prince Oberyn’s death himself, on behalf of Alleras, but he might be usurping another’s task in doing so. He supposed it could wait regardless. The book didn’t have wings, and Prince Oberyn, sadly, would not become any less dead.

_Let’s hope,_ Sam thought with a shiver. Winter might indeed be coming, but dead men weren’t walking from King’s Landing yet.


	4. Several weeks afterward

"A letter's come for you."

Pate was sweeping the floor with a ragged broom when Sam emerged from the stairwell. Sam stopped, his frightened heart making it much more difficult to catch his breath. As he stared, trying not to wheeze, he noticed that several of Pate's fingers were wrapped in bandages. Something must have spooked the ravens and caused them to bite, Sam reasoned.

"A letter? For me? Is it from the Lord Commander?"

"No, it doesn't look to be from the Wall. Unless there's a black brother who might use a pretty green seal like this one."

Pate pulled a rolled-up parchment from his sleeve, and Sam's eyes bugged.

"It's from Horn Hill," he said at once, his hands and voice suddenly shaking.

He took the letter from Pate and held it delicately, as if it might disappear at any moment.

"Were you worried how your wildling woman’s journey fared?" Pate asked, studying Sam with a curious expression. "I could have told you when she arrived safely."

Sam's heart almost stopped.

"How could you have known?"

Pate smiled. "I have my ways of knowing things. I'm simply not accustomed to sharing. I might trust you to keep a secret, but I know you're friendly with Leo. That one does like to boast about the things he knows."

"I'm not _friendly_ with him, I just—"

Pate had never quit smiling, and his mild grin was starting to greatly unnerve Sam.

"Go read your letter, Sam. It might be good news for once."

Sam backed away and practically fled to his cell. If the letter was indeed from his lady mother, then the raven had arrived much sooner than he'd dared hope. A new moon hadn't even come and gone since Gilly left Oldtown. The merchants must have made great haste, and his mother must have sent the letter the moment they arrived. 

He unrolled the parchment immediately. His mother's note was brief but kind, and as he read it, Sam sagged with immense relief.

> _My dearest Sam,_
> 
> _Gilly arrived safely just hours ago. She and the babe are tired but safe and healthy. She begs me to give you her love and gratitude._
> 
> _They will be safe here. I will find Gilly a place in the household staff and the babe will remain with her. The babe is lovely—his hair nearly as dark as yours._
> 
> _All of my love,_
> 
> _Mother_

"Thank you," Sam breathed. He gingerly rolled the parchment in his hands, smiling, almost light-headed with disbelief. It didn't seem possible that something could go right anymore, but the babe should be safer now. Even a bastard’s name was better than none.

_Aemon Flowers, called Aemon Steelsong,_ Sam thought with a little grin.

Sam let his mind slip off to other things, indulging in his rare moment of ease. That strange conversation with Pate had almost been washed away by a rush of relief and gladness. But whenever Sam let his mind wander these days, it always slipped back to Alleras.

They had never spoken of Alleras’ family again and both of them seemed happier for it. They had taken to reading together in the library, on days when they didn’t have tasks or lectures, and these had become the highlight of Sam’s week. Sometimes, when one of them felt like showing the other a passage, a footnote, or some interesting drawing, they drew so close together that Sam could feel the other man’s soft breath against his neck. Sam would feel a queer flutter in his chest, and he wondered again, for the thousandth time, if those moments meant something more.

_Of course not,_ Sam chided himself. _Alleras thinks of you like a brother. Just as Jon did._ Sam was strangely good at coaxing others to open up to him, but when they smiled at him or touched his arm, part of Sam wished he was the sort of man people fell in love with.

_This would be the part where we kiss,_ Sam often thought. _If only I were different._

He looked at the rolled letter in his hands and sighed. It had been different with Gilly— somehow, Gilly had wanted him—but that was over now. The finality of it all swelled in his chest, and Sam squeezed his eyes against oncoming tears. The image of Gilly's smile swam forward in his mind, her sweet smile and her large, dark eyes, not unlike Alleras' eyes, although his were sharper somehow. His smile was sharper too, a knowing and clever grin that made Sam's heart beat like a drum.

Sam felt an uneasy flutter in his stomach. Perhaps he was doubting the obvious. He remembered the warmth of Alleras' touch, the genuine light of his smile, and the way he sometimes pressed against Sam when they sat in the library side by side.

_Could it truly be possible...?_

Sam's heart beat faster, and he thought he might finally put his new-found courage to the test.


	5. Directly afterward

Despite the cooling autumn weather, the air down in Sphinx’s room felt warm and stuffy. Alleras tugged at the collar above his brigandine, but the tight-laced shirt he wore under it all trapped his body in an inescapable heat. Sighing in frustration, Alleras unbuckled his brigandine, pulled off his loose-fitting blouse, and finally unlaced his sleeveless undershirt. He breathed deeply, then peeled the sweaty shirt off altogether. The cooler air wafted pleasantly against his skin, but Alleras felt uncomfortably exposed.

_It’s nothing,_ he sternly reminded himself. _It’s just that useless sense of shame you learned as a girl._

Alleras closed his eyes, trying to acclimate himself to the exposure, to make normal and pleasant the cool air against his chest.

An unexpected knock at his door interrupted his meditation. Alleras scowled, automatically reaching for his discarded undergarment.

"Alleras?" said a small voice against the door. "It's me, Sam."

Alleras paused, considered the sweaty garment in his hand, and decided instead to fling it under his bed. His heart pumped wildly as he pulled on his loose-fitting shirt with nothing underneath, but over it he fastened his studded green vest. His eyes flashed down to his chest, and he felt a light panic.

Another knock.

"Alleras? Are you there?"

There wasn’t time to reconsider.

_It’s not as if there’s much of a difference_ , he thought dryly, forcing his gaze upwards. Steeling himself, Alleras pulled open the door and greeted Sam with a curt nod, immediately ushering him inside.

Sam smiled at him tentatively, wringing his hands, while Alleras eyed him curiously.

"Are you all right?" Alleras asked. “Here, have a seat.”

He reached for Sam's arm and guided him to take a seat on the narrow bed. There simply weren’t many seats in the tiny room—only the small bed and a wobbly wooden stool—so they would need to make do.

Sam’s eyes were wide in his pale, round face. His dark lashes brushed against his skin with every quick blink, and Alleras felt a sweet pressure billow in his chest. Sam shifted his weight uneasily, but when Alleras started to pull away, Sam covered his hand and stopped him.

"I—" Sam began. He swallowed with effort. His voice was high and tight. "I need to verify something."

Alleras frowned, his dark brows drawing together in a point below his widow’s peak. His heart pounded, and for a wild second he felt exposed again. As much to calm himself as to comfort Sam, he moved his hand up to give Sam’s shoulder a squeeze and, hesitantly, reached down to take his hand.

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam took a long, shaky breath and shook his head. He shuddered, worrying his lips, and his eyes grew bright with tears.

"Nothing," he whispered. "Never mind."

"No," Alleras shot back. He gave Sam’s arm a gentle pull, and the other man turned to look at him. "Tell me what’s wrong."

Sam shut his eyes. "There’s nothing wrong, Alleras. I just—." 

His dark eyes blinked open, and Alleras felt his heart stop. When Sam spoke again, his voice was taut with unease.

"Is there something more? Between us, I mean." Sam glanced down at their clasped hands. "We’re growing close, it seems, but I…" He took another heavy breath.

"Do you want there to be?" Alleras asked him swiftly.

The hopeful lift in Sam’s face was all the answer Alleras needed. He leant forward, closing his eyes, moving nearer to Sam’s face—

_No, you fool!_

Sam’s lips met his, and they were softer and sweeter than Alleras ever could have imagined. He felt like gasping, but he couldn’t pry his mouth away. He reached up to place a hand on Sam’s face, his other squeezing Sam’s hand tighter than ever. Then he let the grip go, moving his hand instead to Sam’s thigh, and he felt the other man tense with pleasure. He could have kissed Sam for hours—could have gone further, and gladly—but a sad, sick feeling rose from his gut.

Alleras pulled away.

"Sam," he said, breathless. "I need to tell you something."

Sam blinked, his eyes clouded by a mix of confusion and desire. 

"What?" he breathed.

Alleras laughed without meaning to. It was a short, sharp laugh, and Sam jumped.

"‘Need’ is a strong word," Alleras muttered. "Perhaps I should say instead that I…I want to explain something. To make myself more comfortable."

He looked up at the small, high window in his room, but the clouded sun had all but set.

"Do you remember," Alleras began again, this time more confidently, "when you asked about Sarella Sand?"

Sam looked briefly confused. "Oberyn Martell’s daughter?"

"Prince Oberyn’s, yes." Alleras licked his lips in indecision. He peered into Sam’s guileless eyes, and he only had to wait a beat before he saw the realization dawn.

"Gods, you’re—"

"No,” said Alleras rawly. "I am _not_ a woman."

Sam frowned. "Then I-I don’t understand."

Alleras took a moment to choose his words. He’d found that he didn’t have words for the thing he felt, and even when he’d finally told his sisters, the words hadn’t been quite right. He meant to do it better this time. 

He _hoped_ to do it better.

"Sarella and I are the same person," Alleras said carefully. "Only I don’t use her name anymore."

Sam’s frown remained, but it hardened in a way. His eyes narrowed just a bit, and Alleras could practically see the nimble gears working in his mind. _He’s_ so _clever,_ Alleras thought helplessly. _If anyone could understand…._

"I…I am Alleras. I always have been, I think, even when I was called Sarella." He gave his head a little shake. "It’s difficult to explain, Sam."

Sam bit his lip. "I—"

"Just don’t think of me as a woman, Sam. If you did, I don’t think I could do it."

_Do ‘it?’ You presumptuous fool…._

"That’s a relief," Sam said in a rush. He shifted in his seat and slipped Alleras a sweet, nervous smile. "I don’t think that I could. Think of you as a woman, I mean." His voice broke in a squeak. "I mean, I suppose I could try, if that’s what you wanted, but I-I’m relieved that you don’t. Want it," he added.

Alleras stared in disbelief.

"You understand."

"No," Sam corrected. "Well, maybe, but not entirely, I’m sure. All I know is that I-I-I still want to kiss you, Alleras."

Sam reached out a trembling hand, and when Alleras took it, he was mildly shocked to find that his own hand was trembling also. Sam met his eyes, and the gentlest smile touched his lips. He didn’t look frightened at all.

"We weren’t finished yet," Sam said, almost coyly.

Alleras burst into dizzy laughter. Even Sam laughed a little, blushing all the harder. Alleras paused a moment to take him in—this sweet, bashful, eager young man, with his dark eyes, rosy cheeks, and those soft lips curved in a grin. Sam laughed again, this time more nervously, and Alleras mentally berated himself for staring.

He lunged forward, taking Sam’s face in his hands and kissing him like it was the last thing he would ever do. Sam made a little gasp, and Alleras slyly slid his tongue between the parted lips. He could feel Sam breathing and occasionally making high little moans, which sounded so perfect that Alleras almost lost his mind. He scooted closer to Sam on the bed and moved his hands down, over his chest and down to his soft thighs, molding the swell of his hips. Alleras wanted all of him, all at once. As he felt Sam’s hands on his own body, Alleras smiled into the kiss. Sam reached for his slim waist almost politely, gently thumbing the angle above of his narrow hips.

Alleras pulled away instinctively. Both men were breathing rather hard, but neither removed his hands. Sam’s fingers absently toyed with the edge of Alleras’ vest and the light-weight blouse below, and he brushed the end of his thumb against Alleras’ lightly muscled stomach.

"I took vows on the Wall," Sam began softly, "but the words said nothing of male lovers." He glanced up, and Alleras smiled so wide he thought his face would break. "Nor paramours, as your lot calls them," Sam added with a small grin.

Alleras laughed deeply. "You want to be my paramour, Samwell Tarly?" He gave a satisfied sigh, quelling his laughter. "Unfortunately, the Citadel is more detailed in its prohibitions."

"Well, yes, we’re not allowed to ‘ _keep_ ’ paramours," Sam pointed out, "but I’m not keeping you, am I? You’re already here!"

Alleras winked at him. "I’m pleased to see you’re already thinking like a maester, but no. It might behoove us to keep this quiet. Like generations of amorous acolytes before us, no doubt."

Sam giggled into his hand. Alleras shifted his position to lean against Sam, tucking his slim legs beneath him and letting his head fall against Sam’s soft shoulder. They remained that way for several moments until Sam finally broke the spell.

"I suppose we do need to be very careful," Sam mumbled. "It wouldn't do to draw attention to ourselves."

Alleras pursed his lips. "No," he said flatly.

_They could toss me out of the Citadel._ If it ever happened—if his past became revealed—Alleras told himself that he would have to flee. He would flee to a far-off land where nobody knew him, where the Martell name meant nothing. He'd always wanted to see Yi Ti, to pass through Asshai, and to sail the Jade Sea as a man grown. Still, leaving Oldtown would crush him, but the exposure and the mockery would do even worse.

As if he could read Alleras’ thoughts, Sam squeezed his hand and leaned over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Alleras felt his heart swell and he bit his lip to stifle it.

"That won’t solve anything," Alleras told him sadly, his voice barely audible.

"I know," Sam whispered against his cheek. "But I thought it might feel nice?"

Alleras smiled despite himself, and he turned his face and met Sam’s lips. After a short, beautiful moment, Sam pulled away.

"It must be quite late. I should leave now, before anything starts to look suspicious."

"I wish you didn’t have to," Alleras told him. He forced a twisted smile, and he felt his worries start to uncoil.

"Well, I can’t sleep here," Sam pointed out with a chuckle. "We’d never fit in the bed."

Alleras smirked. "I think we could manage."

Sam's face went red. He shifted very suddenly, attempting to discreetly make his trousers more comfortable, and Alleras’ smirk deepened. The heat in his own groin was much easier to hide. _Perhaps I should be grateful for that_ , he thought wryly.

Puffing lightly, Sam pushed himself up from the bed, brushing nonexistent dust from his trousers as he stood.

"I really should go," Sam said, almost in a whine.

"But you’ll come back when you can?"

Sam smiled at him, sighing with a hopeless longing that made Alleras’ heart want to burst.

"How could I not?"

Alleras winked. "Good answer."

Alleras leaned back on the bed, pulling his arms up over his head. Sam had trouble tearing his eyes away, and he stumbled on the way out the door as he said good-bye. Alleras had to laugh as he watched him go. A smile lingered on his lips long after Sam left.

_This is good,_ he thought. In truth, it was better than he’d ever dared hope. The haze of his simmering pleasure almost clouded his mind to it all—to the secrets, the dangers, the knowing sneers, and the brewing plots he soon could not ignore. Alleras tried to push through his giddy fugue—this would serve him naught but trouble, he knew—but the pleasure felt so sweet that he thought he might indulge. Just for a brief spell.

"‘How could I not?’" Alleras repeated in a whisper. A rich smile touched his lips, and slowly, a slender hand reached for the urgent warmth between his thighs. He closed his eyes. In his reverie, he saw Sam doing the same, but with thoughts of Alleras flooding his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice) for the beta read and helpful suggestions. Any errors remaining were subsequent changes and are my own. Also, I need to thank [cleromancy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cleromancy/pseuds/cleromancy) for requesting a story featuring Alleras/Sam (with Alleras as a trans guy).


End file.
